


The Evolution of Jace Wayland

by olivemartini



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Angst, F/M, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Maryse is trying her best, Past Child Abuse, follows Jace from when he first moves to the institute to book 2, minor PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-28 23:11:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17191976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olivemartini/pseuds/olivemartini
Summary: He doesn't talk about the murder.Doesn't want to, outright refuses, and no matter how they beg or plead or threaten, no one can convince him to speak.  Not the Inquisitor, not the elderly relative that was so blind she insisted on running her hands over his face to see how much he resembled his father and proclaimed there was no similarities at all, not the silent brothers voices whispering through their skulls.  Not even to Maryse, who wrapped him in a hug and promised that he was home, not to worry, that he was with family, now.He didn't bother to tell her that he never had a family, not really.He had had a father.But he was dead.  And now Jace was alone.





	The Evolution of Jace Wayland

He doesn't talk about the murder.

Doesn't want to, outright refuses, and no matter how they beg or plead or threaten, no one can convince him to speak.  Not the Inquisitor, not the elderly relative that was so blind she insisted on running her hands over his face to see how much he resembled his father and proclaimed there were no similarities at all, not the silent brothers voices whispering through their skulls.

Not Maryse, who seems sd at how stiff he is when she hugs him hello and shows him to his room.  It had been a long walk through the institute, and when she threw the door open with a shove from her hip and dropped his one bag down onto the bed, telling him to make himself at home and to come to her for anything he needed, it was clear that no one had been in here for a long time.  There were dust motes swirling through the air, and the pillows were so stiff they let out an audible crunch when he pressed his hand down to them. 

 _We're here for you,_ she had said, holding onto his hand, and even though the touch was alien Jace did not pull away.  He just stared at her hair instead, that long braid that wound down her back and swung from side to side when she waked.  Jace had taken to focusing on the little things, maybe so he didn't have to think about the big.   _Anything that you need.  We're your family now._

He didn't bother to tell her that he never had a family, not really.

He had had a father.

But he was dead.  And now Jace was alone.

 

 

 

They are both only eleven but there are obvious differences between them, mostly that Jace is a soldier and Alec is still only a child.

Not that he blames him for it.

Jace is starting to think ( _or feeling, really.  He wasn't making any decisions, wasn't letting any real ideas form, but there were flashes, some instinctive feeling curling up in his stomach_ ) that the things his father had done were strange.  That maybe other children weren't raised to be fluent in seven languages and have to read a book a day, and that they weren't able to quote any classical story that involved religion or demons or war.  That maybe they had friends, and pets that their father didn't kill, and didn't train until the sun went down and their fingers were bloody.  

"You have to be better."  Jace had swept Alec's leg out from under him without even trying, and Alec had fallen, hard, hard enough that he cried out in pain.  Jace never understood that, always wanted to snap at him that it was better to keep his mouth shut, wanted to warn him that bad things happen to shadowhunters who show weakness, but he doesn't.  It never made him feel very good when his father had said it to him, and it never made whatever had just happened hurt any less.  "You're never going to be a good fighter if you keep your guard down like that."

Alec glared at him from the ground, clutching to his shoulder.  Jace hoped that he hadn't hurt him.  Alec wasn't old enough for the marks yet, and without the iratzes, he would have to heal the normal way, like a Mundie.

( _Jace already had his first marks.  The Lightwoods hadn't known until Izzy had cut him with a whip she had stolen from her mother and he hadn't even cried out, just drew out a stele when the blood splattered the floor.  Robert had lunged for him, yelling, knocked it out of his hands and grabbed at his arm to check on the half formed iratze that had yet to be activated, only to see the lattice work of scars that already painted over every inch of his body._

 _Over his head, Robert and Maryse exchanged a look.  Jace didn't see and didn't understand, but he would learn later, when others learned of the mysterious Wayland boy and the things he could do-_ he's too young, much too young for the marks, it could have killed him-  _but Jace had already known that.  The Silent Brothers had warned his father of it when they came to put the open eye on his left hand, and his father had only laughed, high and cruel and scalding._

The problem with the Clave,  _he had said, and Jace remembered standing beside him in ceremonial robes and how he was shaking with fear and nerves and adrenaline, because the Silent brothers were talking to him, too, showing him things- things like images of Forsaken with their eyes rolled back to show only the whites of their eyes, things like a girl not much older than him screaming in pain and the skin on her arm burning, blackening, peeling back from the bone, the fate that awaits those who take the marks too soon.  They were letting him choose, but it was not choice at all, not when it was what his father wanted._ Is that they make room for the weak.  But we,  _and here he had looked at Jace with every ounce of pride that he could muster and Jace felt his fear ebb away, just a bit, because at the very least, he wanted to make his father proud._ The morning star is not weak.

_The pain, when it was time to add the rune, was unbearable.  He had screamed like the girl in the vision had screamed, fallen to the ground and writhed on the floor, smelled the scent of his own skin burning, tasted the blood blooming in his mouth from where he had bit his tongue, but Jace could only think of his father, standing with his arms crossed, immobile, impassive, ashamed of a son that could be so weak._

_In the end, the pain stopped, and the rune stayed, and Jace managed to get to his feet without his father's help, and he knew that he was stronger for it, no matter what the Lightwoods thought._ )

"It's only training."  Alec still sounded angry, but when Jace looked back at him, there was no sign of it.  Maybe he was imagining things.  He hadn't been able to relax since they got here.  "You're allowed to make mistakes when you train.  How else are you supposed to get better?"

Jace doesn't answer.

Doesn't know how to tell him how wrong that is.

Doesn't like to think what it means, that all the things that Jace knew to be true about people suddenly weren't.

 

 

 

 

Isabelle breaks the rules.

Jace is fond of Isabelle.  He hadn't expected to be- he respected Robert and loved Maryse even though he was trying not to and he was grateful for Alec, but his father had always told him that the girls, even though they were excellent fighters, weren't going to be as good as him.  That they had to protected, all of them, mundanes and shadowhunters alike, because Jace is better than they could hope to be.  His father's theories are proven wrong pretty quickly the first time Isabelle's electrum whip wraps around his ankles and sends him flying across the room to land against the wall in a heap, but that doesn't stop Jace from thinking that he needs to take care of her.  To protect her, just like he had made up his mind that he was going to take care of Alec when he first came to the Institute two years again.

Which means that this is a no brainer.

"Izzy."  He doesn't ever call her Izzy like Alec does, not out loud.  That was something for her brothers, for Alec and Max, and no matter how much Jace finds himself caring for her, he is not her brother.  It's not something that he's likely to forget, but this is special circumstances.  "Izzy, it's going to be okay."

"It's on mom's rug."  She was crying.  Isabelle cries a lot.  Alec always rolls his eyes, but this time, Jace doesn't, just feels like crying with her- can feel that familiar rush of adrenaline gathering in his veins and his heart hammering away at his chest, is already scrambling to find a way to fix this.  But he can't.  There's no cleaning rune.  "She told me not to take drinks out of the kitchen."

They both stared down at the giant splash of orange soda slowly sinking down into Maryse's antique rugs, and they both could hear Maryse's heels clicking on the marble floors, coming closer to them, and Jace comes to a decision.

"Izzy, listen to me."  He is only thirteen and a half to her twelve, but Jace feels so much older.  Maybe because he's her older brother, or maybe because the things he's done makes him more sure of himself than any thirteen year old- he had killed demons and downworlders and watched his father die and moved halfway across the world without complaint, and now that he was here, he had his little family.  Had Alec and Izzy and Max, and that was going to be enough, so he was going to protect them.  "I'll take care of it."

She hiccupped, tears still streaming down her cheeks.  "You will?"

"We'll say it was me."  He doesn't want to get in trouble.  Hasn't, the whole two years he had been at the institute.  He knows that Maryse finds it strange.  He had overheard enough conversations between her and Hodge to know that she finds a lot of things about him strange- how good he was at fighting, all the old runes lacing his arms, the scars, how he never cries out when he gets hurt, the fact that he never seems to be afraid or is interested in making any other friends besides Alec.  But mostly, he had just been careful and cautious, too tense in this new place to let himself breathe.  And even though he's scared, he's more certain that it would hurt him more for Izzy to admit to staining the rug that it would for Jace to take the punishment himself.  "That I tripped."

Izzy hiccupped again, but she had stopped crying.  "You don't trip."

Jace smiles.  "I did today."  The footsteps are louder.  Maryse is right outside the door.  "Give me the glass.  Go hide in your room."  He takes the glass from her and doesn't notice when the broken edges jab at his fingers.  "I'll come get you when it's over."

She listens, and she just makes it around the corner when Maryse walks into the hallway, letting out a shriek when she sees him. He thinks that it's a large reaction to have over a rug, but his father was always particular about certain things, so when she runs to him, he braces himself, only to find her prying his hands away from the glass.

"I tripped. I know you told me not to," Jace says, and Maryse makes a sound of disbelief in the back of her throat.  She is bandaging his hand instead of using an iratze, probably because she hadn't believed him when he said they didn't hurt anymore.  He's not supposed to use runes until Alec gets his, and then they can pick up on his training where his father left off.  "But I went out there anyways."

She doesn't yell.  Doesn't hit.  Doesn't pretend to be calm only to do something awful later, just makes sure that he isn't cut anywhere else and takes his Captain America comic books for a week.

Jace has never been more confused in his life.

 

 

 

Things are good with the Lightwoods.

They forget his birthday, mostly because Jace doesn't mention it, and three weeks later he walks into the kitchen to find the Lightwoods gathered around the table in an impromptu party, a lopsided and crudely decorated cake sitting in the corner with fourteen lights plopped in the middle, a pile of presents behind it and that old Wayland woman sitting in the corner and singing Happy Birthday to Max, who she apparently was convinced was Jace.

There's no pop quizzes, no trick questions that meant Jace would either have to get them right or get punished, only Hodge puttering around the library pulling out books that his thinks Jace might like to read, books that have nothing to do with fighting or demons or downworlders, mundane stories like Harry Potter and Percy Jackson and seemed utterly bemused when Jace returned them with a full literary analysis attached.

There's Church, who is utterly devoted to Hodge and cooperative for everyone else but Robert, who has to wear his leather fighting boots at all times to keep himself safe when Church dives for his ankles.  He threatens to kill the cat once and no one is quite able to understand why Jace hides the cat in his closet for a week after, and Jace has just enough control to know how strange it was that he thought he had to do that.  The explanation about his old hunting falcon dies in his throat, and the subject seems to be dropped.

So it's good.  Not as good as having his father, but good.

 

 

 

"They aren't going to hurt you."  He and Alec are lying side by side on Jace's bed.  He doesn't go into Alec's room, can't stand the mess, but Jace is starting to learn that these urges inside him and the feeling that he must get them done or something terrible will happen are alien to most people.  It's gotten harder and harder to explain, so he doesn't, just stops going into the other Lightwood children's rooms.  "Mom and Dad."

Jace didn't say anything. He knows what brought this up- a glass slipping through his hands at dinner with Alec and Izzy and Max and Maryse, Jace going pale and stuttering ut apologies and dropping to his knees in the middle of all the glass, scooping up the shards with his bare palms without a broom, because that was always how it went, before, you break things and then you fix him, his breathing loud in his ears and drowning out all other sounds.  He didn't know how strange it must have looked (or how bad he was scaring Max) before Maryse was on the ground with him, holding his arms still, pinning his wrists to her chest to stop him from fighting.

He had smeared blood all over her blouse.

It was the first time that anyone had seen him cry.

"I don't know-," Alec started, faltered.  "I don't know what your father did.  How things were.  I've guessed things, but- that's not how it is here.  Mom and dad don't hurt us.  They're never going to hurt us.  Not like he did you."

Jace doesn't know what to say to that.  Never does, when he's faced with accusations about what his father did, about abuse and neglect and trauma, made ten times worse with Robert still hoping that the friend he knew wouldn't have done something like that.  

"You don't know that."  Jace's hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, once, twice, a third time.  He wants to his something.  He's itching for a fight.  Might sneak out and go find one. There's a werewolf fight club that would take him as long as he agreed to go two against one.  "Everyone hurts everybody."

"Not us.  We're parabati.  I'm gong to protect you.  Always."  They were fifteen, and the marks over their hearts were new enough that Jace could still feel the burn of them when he stretched.  The marks always hurt more for him than anyone else.  The silent brothers had said it was a left over affect of how early he got them, and it would most likely never go away.  "I'm not going to let anyone hurt you."

"Even your parents?"

"Even your parents.  But-,"  Alec met his eyes and then looked away, blushing.  That's a new thing that's started, the blushing.  Jace doesn't really know what to do about it or what it means, but he doesn't think it means anything good.  "You're their kid.  They don't want to hurt you anymore than they want to hurt me."

There's something bitter in that last sentence.  Bitter, but all the resentment turned back on Alec himself, leaving Jace blameless.  He knows that Alec thinks he's the least favorite, their few real fights have been about that or stemming from it.  The worst part is, Jace doesn't even think that Alec is wrong.

"I'm not their family," Jace says, because he's miserable and likes to make other people feel it, too.  "I'm just some kid they took in because the clave said so."

Alec doesn't argue, just rolls his eyes.  "Your my family now."  He taps where the rune was hiding under Jace's shirt.  "That's just going to have to be good enough."

 

 

 

 

Jace wakes up to witchlight.

"It's me."  The light dims, and Jace can see Maryse standing in the open doorway, her hair thrown up in a bun and in her pajamas.  Max had been sick, which meant that she had paced the hallway like she always does, listening to him cough until he had finally fallen asleep.  It's what she does for all the kids.  All of them except for Jace.  "You were calling out."

Jace sat up, felt the aching in his shoulders, the tightness in his jaw and tries to look cool.  Not that he thinks he manages it.  It's hard to look cool after you've cried out loud enough to bring in your mother.  "For you?"

It hurt her.  He can see it in the lines around her mouth.  One of these days, Jace might push it far enough to actually make her cry.  He doesn't know what he would do then.

She ignores the question.  "Your father."  She doesn't move any closer.  Maybe she thinks he would run away if she did. She always approaches him like he's some sort of wild animal, wounded and likely to lash out at anyone he thinks has backed him in a corner.  "Do you want to talk about it?"

There were times where this would happen almost nightly.  Sometimes she would be there, sometimes she wouldn't, but the beginning moments were always the same- he'd dream of his father, either the things that those men had done to him or the things that his father had done to Jace, and he would wake up with a scream on his lips and the sheets tangled around his legs and in a cold sweat, and either the witchlight would be in the doorway or it wouldn't.  But that when he was young- at sixteen, he had long since trained himself to muffle the yells, to keep himself quiet.  

This was ridiculous.

 _I dreamed of the blood,_ he wants to say.  He thinks it would feel better if he said it, like some sort of purge, like that one time he had gotten hit with the poison spiked tail of a demon and Hodge had to drain all the blood away from the cut to clear the poison out.  It hurts, but the relief that comes later is worth it.   _I was under the steps.  The blood seeped across the floor to me.  It stained my shoes.  That's what I was thinking about, the whole time I stood there, staring at the spot where his body had lain, wondering if anyone was ever going to save me.  That there was blood on my shoes.  What a strange thing to focus on, isn't it?_

He hadn't told anyone about that.  Not Alec, even the times he wanted to.  He's tempted to tell Maryse, but something about being sixteen makes him feel like he shouldn't.

"No," He says, and this time, he really does hurt her.  Which isn't fair.  He's only ever tried to protect them, all of them.  

He's just got no idea how to protect them from himself.

 

 

 

 

For half his life, his world had revolved around one person- his father.  But then he came to live with the Lightwoods and there were more people: Alec and Izzy and Max and Maryse, first, and then Hodge, and then even Robert, if to a lesser extent.  And it's good.  It's great, it's enough, it's better than he ever thought he was going to get.  But then he met Clary.

Clary was... not like him.  She was good, and nice, and she was pretty even if she didn't realize it, even if she wasn't pretty like the other girls that had liked him had been pretty.  She hadn't kissed anyone before, clearly, not until that night in the garden, but that hadn't bothered Jace, right up until the moment where they get back to her room and find Simon waiting there, looking just as angry and hurt as Jace felt, the only difference being that the mundane had a right to feel that way.  

And he liked her.  A lot.  Which was a new feeling, a feeling that he completely intended on pursuing even if it hurt Alec and meant that he had to knock the little mundane's teeth out, but then they got the mortal cup, and he met his father again, and he finds out he has a sister.

Who just happens to be Clary.

Which is awful for so many reasons.

"Jace."  She always his name so much gentler than she says any other word, like she's scared to hurt him.  Like she, no matter how much he tries to hide it, can see how fragile he is, how much the whole thing has shaken him.  "Jace, can we talk?"

He knows what she means.   _Can we talk about the garden, can we talk about our father, can we talk about the fact that we must be sick, twisted people because we still want each other in a way that we are not allowed to want._ And he doesn't want to talk.  Not about that.

"So I suppose," He says, carefully, confidently, hurting her and himself but confident, this time, that he is doing the right thing. That he is doing the thing that everyone else seems never to be able to do, which is to hurt someone in the name of keeping them safe.  "That you'll be with Simon now?"

"Simon?"  She's confused by the change of subject.  Or maybe he's just surprised that he knew his name.  Not that Jace had the opportunity to forget it- he had had to rescue the guy from a horde of vampires, for god's sake.  "What's he got to do with anything?"

"He's in love with you. He told you.  I know he told you, don't look so surprised."  Jace thinks that he and Simon are friends, now, in a weird way where Jace is still mean to him all the time and is always threatening to put his fist through his teeth and Simon just grins and makes pop culture references and doesn't seem bothered by him at all.  It seems that the fact that Clary cares for the both of them was enough to have them call a truce. "And you like him."

"I,"  Her face flames red, but she's angry, not embarrassed.  He doesn't know why.  Maybe it's just a reflex left over, considering how every other time he mentioned Simon, Jace had only done it to make fun of him.  "I don't know."

"Well, if he hurts you," Jace doesn't know how to do this.  Had never had to.  Alec had always found it necessary to warn Izzy's boyfriends, to tell them that he would chop them into pieces if they hurt her and then burn the body, but Jace never did.  Always thought that the threat was clear just by looking at the two of them. But he wants to make the offer.  Wants her to know, to understand what he would do to keep her safe, sister or not.  "I'll take care of it."

Clary laughs, which is not how he thought this would go, and it makes him angry.  "Take care of him?  What are you, in the mob?"

"I only mean, if he does something, or," He's floundering.  Maybe this is why Alec always sounds so stupid when he makes these kinds of threats.  "Or does something you don't like, or doesn't listen, or lays a hand on you," She's not laughing now.  "I'll take care of it."

She looks a little scared.  Or at least wary.  "It's Simon, Jace."  She pities him. Pities him the way she pitied him when he told her about the falcon, or when he told her how her father hit him, or when she found him staring at his father like an abandoned puppy that had finally been let back into the house.  "He's not going to hurt me."

"He could.  Everyone hurts everybody."  He had said those words to Alec a long time ago, and Jace has yet to prove himself wrong.  "And when he does, I'll be there. That's the great thing about older brothers.  We watch out for you."

Clary reels back like he had slapped her.  Jace understands the sentiment.  He can feel the sting of the words himself, unnecessary and aching.

 

 

 

 

 _Oh, you,_ Maryse had said, right before she turned him out on the street without saying why.   _You were never afraid of the dark._

He had been trying to get a rise out of her when he had mentioned the song, but what she said was true.  He wasn't afraid of the dark.  Jace couldn't remember being afraid of anything but his father, not the demons or hurting himself in training or the darkness, but he was afraid now, even with the Silent City miles behind him.  All he could think about was the fear, the choking, overwhelming fear, the Silent brother stumbling into the cell with his mouth gaping open, trying to save him, giving himself up for the chance of saving Jace when he could have ran.

Jace was afraid then.

This was something else.

"Hey." Magnus' cat eyes glittered, and Jace jumped at the sound.  He had been staring down at the pot of water on the stove for ages, not noticing that it had boiled over and was spilling onto the floor.  "You alright, shadowhunter?"

"Fine."  He was too short with him, but the warlock made him wary.  The eyes, the magic, even the shine of the glitter.  Which was odd.  He had found him amusing before, and doubted that someone who liked Alec as much as Magnus seemed to would harm his parabatai, so he knew he had nothing to fear.  "Just tired."

Magnus watches him for a  moment, leaning against the counter.  Jace wondered if he really was part feline or if Magnus had just decided to play the part.  "You're scared."  Magnus doesn't move but Jace flinches, and with a wave of his hand, the pot and the water disappear.  "Not that it's your fault.  That thing," Magnus' lips curls in distaste.  "I'm surprised you aren't curled up in a ball in a corner somewhere trying to hide from me."

"Hide?"  Jace spluttered out the word, feeling so young that it was ridiculous.  "I'm a shadowhunter, we don't- we don't hide."

He thinks of Hodge, the black of his curse still staining the library floor.  Thinks of his father, the father that was not his father and the dead body that wasn't his.  They don't hide, but they do run.  

"Can you fix it?"  Jace asked finally, looking down at the way his hand was trembling.  "Take it away?"

"No."  Magnus didn't look sorry, but Jace knew that he wasn't lying. "I'm afraid that it's something I can't just take away from you.  But I can help."

Jace snorts.  "Yeah?  How can you help me?"

Magnus smiles, brighter this time, genuinely kind, and Jace thinks that if this is who Alec picks to love, he could deal, even if it was a warlock.  There's a wave of his hand and a steaming mug of hot chocolate appears on the counter.  "We wait it out together."  He's pleasant, voice kept carefully light.  "Always better that way, isn't it?"

 

 

 

In the morning, Jace walks out in the kitchen to find Alec already there, standing closer to Magnus than could be considered polite.

Jace clears his throat.  Alec jumps back, face red, and Magnus glares, first at Alec and then at Jace.

He feels a little guilty.

"Hey."  He slides onto one of the bar stools and makes grabby hands at the pancakes, which Magnus passes over without question.   Jace isn't all that hungry ( _hasn't been since the Silent City_ ) but Magnus insists that it doesn't count as good chaperoning if he lets the prisoner starve, and also, he was trying to give Alec time to collect himself.  He can tell he needs it- can feel the fear and the shame and the  _something else_ thrumming through the parabatai bond, stronger now that they were so close.  It's useful in a fight, but not so much for keeping secrets.  "What are you doing here?"

Alec clears his throat and smiles.  There's that something in his face, the something that Jace keeps seeing and keeps hoping will go away, because he really doesn't want to talk about it.  He's not sure how you can say  _I'm not gay,_ in response to your best friend thinking that they were in love you, considering that said best friend won't even admit that he's gay.

"Came to see you, of course," Alec says, and it is a lie.  "Why else?"

Magnus makes an angry hissing sound and throws his glass of orange juice into the sink so hard that it shatters.  Jace flinches at the motion.  All three of them pretend that none of it happened.

 

 

It's the longest he's ever gone without training.  The second longest he's ever gone without killing something, the longest being the first six years of his life.  Alec is of the opinion that it's good for him.

"So, you two-," Jace starts, and Magnus stops watching the tv long enough to stare at him, like he can't quite believe Jace is saying it.  "You're the one who left that mark on his neck?"

Which, okay, is not how he meant to phrase it, but he had been wondering, ever since he caught sight of it and Alec had claimed that he got it by falling down the steps.  

Magnus snorts at him, laughing.  "I would hope so."  His mouth twitches into a smile like he can't help himself.  "I would be very upset if I wasn't."  And then, "He doesn't think you know."

"I didn't.  Not really.  I assumed."  Under his gaze, Jace felt like he needed to defend himself.  "It's not like I  _care,_ you have to know that."

Magnus's eyes aren't as friendly anymore. "I don't."  His voice is flat.  "And neither does he."

Jace is quiet, and then-, "When I was little, my dad would talk to me about the mundanes.  About how they fought amongst themselves- about race, about where they're from, whether these imaginary borders should be open to others or only meant for those contained within them.  That they fought about who they love, and that we, shadowhunters, were  _lucky,_ " Jace could remember the conversation word for word.  He was good at remembering, and he could remember the tone, too, how fast the words were rushing from him, the feverish high that Valentine would get whenever he told Jace about his dreams, his ideas, his plans.  "Lucky that we didn't have to fight about that.  That there was no difference so important that we should turn against each other.  That everything else didn't matter, as long as they were a shadowhunter.  When you're born with the angel's blood, there is no other stipulation or trial that you have to pass- that's everything.  It's us vs. them.  One entity against everything else, no matter how strange we might look or seem to one another."

"Us versus them.  A good sentiment. Noble, even.  And good for Alec, certainly."  His eyes seemed to be burning, more orange than amber.  Jace wondered if he was going to incinerate him. "Except for the fact that I'm regulated to the them category."

"Except for that," Jace admits. "But what I'm trying to say is-," He blinks at him. "I don't care.  Really.  Alec's my brother he-," Jace swallows, hard.  "He can love whoever the hell he wants, and I'll take care of anyone who says differently."

 

 

There's another nightmare, another cry, another person standing in the doorway backlit by the light in their hands.

Not witchlight, this time, and not Maryse.  

Blue light.  Magic.  Magnus.

"You were crying."  Magnus looked at him like he was something curious to examine under a microscope.  "For your mother."

Jace just stared, furious, and thinks about throwing a knife at him.  The Inquisitor had taken his stele but Magnus had conjured him weapons and a foam target to throw them at.  "My mother's dead."

"No, you little cretin.  My mother's dead.  Your mother is very much alive."  This was one of his bad days.  Jace had been staying here long enough to see it happen- the up days, and the down days, where Magnus would just sit on the couch and stare blankly at a silent television until the sunset and still be sitting there when Jace wakes the next morning. He thinks he is only leaving his bed for Jace's benefit.  "In a coma, granted, but alive. You should be grateful."

"That woman," Jace says, angrily, thinking somewhere in the back of his mind that this was not a good idea. That Alec might not be happy if Jace picks a fight with his boyfriend.  "Is not my mother."

"She is."  Magnus didn't sound sympathetic.  "Most people would be happy."  Jace's grip tightens around the dagger and Magnus notices, because it's zooming out of his hand to fly into the center of the target, quivering in the air as it stills.  "But you aren't.  You're sitting here.  Angry.  Sulking."

"She left me behind-,"

"She left to save her daughter.  Clary."  Jace doesn't like the look in Magnus' eyes, like maybe he knows too much.  "What wouldn't you do to save her?"  

Jace doesn't answer.  Can't answer.  Everyone else had been following him around with questions and accusations about Clary- he thought Magnus would have taken less of an interest.  But then again, he knew Clary.  Watched her grow up.  Cares for her, and probably, to some extent, for Jocelyn.

"There's going to be a war, Morgenstern."  Jace still wasn't used to hearing that name applied to him.  He doesn't like the way that it seems to fit in everyone mouth, like they're being cut on each jagged syllable.  "Time for you to grow up."

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on Instagram @olive.writes.fanfic


End file.
